


A Bringer of New Things

by onanomnomotopoeia



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Felicity is Demonstrably Jewish, Goth Felicity Smoak, Temporary Irresponsible Oliver Queen, Unplanned Pregnancy, What-If, Work In Progress, pre-island relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8870992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onanomnomotopoeia/pseuds/onanomnomotopoeia
Summary: When she’d gone out that night, it hadn’t been with a plan to pick up a guy. It’d been more of a proof of concept. And maybe she’d wanted to prove to her mother and to her roommate that she was open and able to have that other kind of life, if she’d wanted it. So she’d faked herself an ID, gone to the closest college pick-up bar, and found Oliver, with his terrible floppy hair and his stupid frat boy clothes and his beautiful blue eyes that begged her to like him.





	1. The Best You Ever Had (November 9, 2007)

**Author's Note:**

> What if Oliver never met Samantha, but met Felicity instead?
> 
> Told mostly vignette-style. Won't always be told chronologically, so dates will be noted at the beginning of each chapter. No update schedule, although 3 chapters are finished.

_I am a part of all that I have met;_  
_Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'_  
_Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades_  
_For ever and forever when I move._  
_How dull it is to pause, to make an end,_  
_To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!_  
_As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life_  
_Were all too little, and of one to me_  
_Little remains: but every hour is saved_  
_From that eternal silence, something more,_  
_A bringer of new things_

\- “Ulysses,” Alfred, Lord Tennyson

\-----

**November 9, 2007**

\-----

They stumbled into Felicity’s dorm room laughing about nothing.

Oliver had the presence of mind to be glad that her roommate was out for the night (the last thing he needed was an audience while he fucked the pressures of his life away) and got a hand down the front of Felicity’s pants, happy with the gasp that followed from her sexy mouth.

He was too drunk to feel much of anything but a buzzing, blunt kind of pleasure --he certainly didn’t feel any guilt over tumbling into bed with a pretty, if unusual, coed while his girlfriend Laurel was on the other side of the country looking at apartments for them to move into.

Or if he did, Felicity was enthusiastic enough to distract him from it.

She was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the kind of girl he normally went for. She was cynical and mouthy, and literally dark--gothic makeup and black hair and black clothes. Even in the hazy bar down the block where they’d met, he saw instantly that Felicity was smart, way too smart for him, uncomfortably close to the kind of intelligence that Laurel had and that had intimidated him ever since he could remember. It was the kind of smart that usually caused such women to screen Oliver as a potential partner before he got close enough to make a pass.

But there’d been something in her eyes when they’d met his that told him she’d needed exactly the kind of release he did.

And she was refreshing in a way Oliver couldn’t pin down. Young, beautiful despite her obvious attempts to mask it, her kisses were open and real and unpracticed, and her touch was fumbling and incredibly arousing in its eagerness.

There was no pretense in her, in a world Oliver saw as made up of nothing _but_ pretense.

“Hurry, hurry, god,” Felicity muttered against his lips, and the desperation in her voice shot straight through him and had desire pooling hot in his stomach.

His eyes shot down, to the peak of her breasts and beyond, and discovered that she’d lost her boots and most of her clothes somehow. All that was left was a strappy black tank top and purple cotton underwear. She clearly hadn’t dressed for seduction, but the clean, conservative lines just seemed to showcase the toned and pale skin underneath, and the same urgency that had her tearing at the buttons of his shirt overcame him with a force that took his breath away.

He urged her backwards until her knees hit the foot of her twin bed, and he pushed her down and stepped back just far enough to finish undressing himself. He yanked off his dress shirt, still half unbuttoned, and his undershirt in one go, toeing off his shoes at the same time, just barely holding on to his balance as the room tilted dangerously.

Felicity sprawled back and watched him as he got rid of the rest of his clothes. Her cheeks reddened somewhat as he stood naked, but her blue eyes were heavy-lidded and dark with desire and what felt like a little bit of judgement. He’d never seen quite that combination before from a girl about to sleep with him. The skepticism and challenge of it, it made the back of his neck flush with heat of a different kind.

He didn’t like the feeling, so he resolved to do something about it.

He crawled over her, ran his hands up her legs as he went, watched her chest hitch with unsteady breaths. Over her thighs and her trembling stomach and her soft breasts that made his mouth water, finally reaching the straps of her tank top, which he pulled slowly down and over her arms and chest to bunch up at her belly, where he left it for a moment to get his tongue on one of her bare pink nipples.

Felicity made a strangled noise and jolted up into his mouth when he tugged on it with his teeth, and his cock jumped in response at the sound. Willing himself to be patient, just this once, he sucked hard, and used one hand to caress her other breast, and his other hand to slide down to the flesh between her legs.

The minute his hand cupped her she let out a long moan, her nails digging into his shoulders, and he couldn’t help but answer it with his own. Not sure he could wait to tease her through the fabric, he grabbed the crumpled tank top and the top of her panties and pulled them down, threw them to land somewhere in the middle of the room.

He kneeled for a moment, not caring when his hair fell into his eyes, taking in her lithe, naked body. She was so much smaller than he was, but God her legs seemed endless, and her breasts were small but lovely and round and he could see how wet she was, and he had to wait until he was certain he wouldn’t come at just the sight of her.

It was the downside of the alcohol; it took the edge off his nerves and his pain, but it also took away a lot of his control, and control was something he knew he’d need if he was going to finish this with his dignity intact.

Felicity tilted her head up, not quite looking him in the eye, and gripped his forearms. “Oliver,” she said tightly. “Oliver, please.”

Hearing his full name, rather than the _Ollie_ he was used to from his friends, made something unnameable rush through his chest, and all thoughts of dignity disappeared. He swore, dove into her mouth, fingers sliding through her folds in an attempt to get her as close as he was. He couldn’t think clearly, and he couldn’t find a rhythm, all he could think about was how good she tasted and how much he wanted to be inside her.

She pulled back slightly. “Here,” she said, her voice was husky and slurred, as grabbed his hand where it shook against her sex. “Like this.”

Guiding his hand, she showed him what she liked, circled his fingers around her clit, brushed lightly over it, circled again. Her hips stuttered into their joined hands, and he had to bury his face against her neck, because watching her face as she used his hand to pleasure herself would have been too much. Moments passed, long moments where Oliver just held on, pressing his erection into the back of her hand as it moved, needing some pressure, some relief.

Eventually she lost the thread and her movements became clumsy, and then her hand suddenly released his and turned over to grip his shaft insistently.

“Now. Now,” she demanded, and he agreed wholeheartedly.

Oliver didn’t even try to be slow; he’d long passed the point where he could have been. She was so slippery where the head of his cock met her entrance and he glided it inside her so easily, and he couldn’t stop himself from surging deeply, filling her to the hilt.

Felicity cried out, and her hands spasmed on his back in a way that hinted at discomfort more than pleasure. It just barely registered, his head was so full of her and how she surrounded him, hot and wet and tighter than he’d thought she’d be.

He lifted his head and looked down at her, saw that her face was flushed and tense and her eyes were squeezed closed, and she was breathing heavily.

He was sweating with the effort to be still, to let her adjust to him. He had to clear his throat twice before words would come out. “You okay?

She nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah, just give me a second. You’re just, uh, you’re...big.”

At that moment, he couldn’t even be smug. The room was too fuzzy, her body held him too tightly, and he had too little restraint left. Smugness took too much energy. All of his was focused on holding still, on not hurting her. He loved sex, had had as much sex as he could manage in his 22 years, but pain had never been one of his turn-ons, giving or receiving it.

She shifted, causing him sink further into her. He groaned desperately. “Don’t move, Jesus fuck, don’t move, please,” he begged.

She lifted herself again. “It’s okay now, I want you to.”

Before she even finished her sentence, his hips snapped away and back on a hard thrust, and then another. “Shit,” he bit out out, pushing her legs further up and apart, chasing his climax helplessly.

He felt a nudge down between their bodies, realized that she was touching herself again with quick, sharp motions, watched a determined expression cross her face, like she was set on coming no matter what.

He spared a hand from bracing himself on either side of her head to tease her nipple, and since she’d seemed to like it earlier, pulled and pinched until her pussy fluttered around him and her hips rose to meet him.

“Just--just a little--a little more,” Felicity panted, eyes wide as she looked up at him.

Oliver was cursing with each heavy stroke now, and it was her words, just the sound of her voice, that pushed him to the edge and over it, that made the pressure at the base of his spine explode out in a rush. He pushed himself into her, as far as her body would take him, and the pleasure spread white-hot over him as he spilled himself into her with a grunt.

Not even a beat later, through the haze of his orgasm, he felt her body go taut and jerk under his, and he opened his eyes just in time to see her mouth fall open, something like surprise filling her eyes. Her core clamped down around him and she shuddered, and he gasped loudly in response, still riding his own release.

He collapsed, knowing that his weight was probably too much for her to take but not having the wherewithal to move yet. She didn’t complain, just seemed to doze.

It was few minutes before he realized that he was still thrusting lazily, even though he was half-soft by then. He took a deep breath and pulled out of her, and then rolled to the side, though the bed was small enough that he was still half on top of her.

When he rested his head on her breast, she stirred a bit. “Bathroom’s to the left down the hall,” she mumbled.

“In a minute,” he said, told himself he was just going to close his eyes for a second, and fell asleep.

~*~

Around four o’clock in the morning, Felicity jolted awake, which awkwardly dislodged Oliver’s head from her chest and, more importantly, woke him up from a really great dream in which she’d been riding him into oblivion.

He was hard and aching, pressed into the outside of her leg, and the curve of her back and silhouette of one perfect breast as she sat up spurred on his lusty idea of another round before her roommate came back and he had to meet Tommy.

But then she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, and as she turned and gaped at him he got a good enough look at her face in the dark to see that she was very sober and very mortified.

“Oh my god,” she started dully.

“Hang on,” Oliver said, trying his most charming voice. “There’s nothing to be--”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Felicity said again, louder this time and with more feeling.

He propped himself up on an elbow and talked over her. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, we’re both adults and--” He’d been about to say that they were both single, but he wasn’t. Not that he’d told her that. He’d hadn’t told her much of anything past his name, which she hadn’t recognized, and the fact that he’d wanted to take her to bed. “We’re both adults who wanted to have sex and so we did.”

She pushed her purple-streaked black hair back from her face. “Oliver--”

There it was, his name again. His name on her lovely, full lips increased his interest tenfold. “We had some _great_ sex,” he added, enjoying the memories of her body’s response to his body, thinking that it was a shame to waste the opportunity. “We could have _more_ great sex, if you wanted.”

There was a flash of hesitation, just a second of it, during which her face softened and she seemed to sway toward him minutely, and he knew he could convince her.

He stood and advanced on her, filled his hands with her breasts when she didn’t retreat. He bent his head and kissed her mouth, then slowly down her neck. “Think how much better it will be now that we’re sober.”

He could practically feel her reluctance melting away as he kneaded her skin, skimmed his fingertips down, down, down. “You can say yes or no. I’ll keep going or I’ll stop.”

When he reached the soft hair at the apex of her thighs, he pushed her legs wider apart and worked her with the confidence of a man who knew he was about to get what he wanted. Looking down at her chest rising, breasts swaying which each rise, he let a finger circle her passage and press just inside. “Do you want me to stop?”

She let her head fall back slightly, whimpered. “No. I don’t want you to stop. Don’t stop.”

He pressed his finger in further, felt her spasm and dampen, and added the tip of another finger. He wanted to make her forget her qualms and jump in with him again, wanted more of her whimpers, wanted the weight of her hands on his shoulders as she filled herself with him.

He eased them both back, and when they reached the bed he sat and stretched out across the length of it, holding out a hand for her to join him. “You’re on top this time,” he told her, wanting to recapture a part of the dream that had entertained him just a few minutes earlier.

She visibly swallowed, and he could feel her nervousness in the tremor of her hands as he helped her straddle him. She arranged herself over him, hands on his chest, and he thought she would rise up and take him in, tried to guide her hips to do just that, but instead she shook her head and settled her heat right against his cock to slide slowly back and forth.

He realized what she was doing, she was taking her own pleasure again. Her slickness eased her way as she rode her clit over the ridge of his cock, a caress that felt amazing, had him gritting his teeth and clutching her hips hard enough to bruise.

She started to move faster, jerkily, curled fists against his chest. He knew he should do something to help her along, but he was mesmerized by the sight of her--head thrown back, sweat between her breasts, stomach clenched in anticipation of her release, and then--there she went, with a cry that was all satisfaction this time, suspended in it as her orgasm claimed her.

He lifted her and sheathed himself quickly, hoping to overcome any soreness she might have felt by using her climax to distract her, and set a pace to finish, driven to alleviate the pressured arousal that had built while he watched her.

And he was close, really close, when she came back to herself and slowed the pace, clenching her thighs around him to force him to yield to her rhythm.

It was wonderful and it was excruciating. His hips kept bucking on their own accord, seeking a harder thrust, but she kept retreating so that he couldn’t get a full stroke.

“Goddamn it,” he grinded out, half crazy. “Faster. Harder.”

Felicity shook her head again, a wicked smirk on her face. “No,” she refused breathlessly, keeping a slow rhythm, but gave him some relief by sinking farther each time so that his full length was inside her before she rose again.

“Touch me,” she said, in a tone that indicated a clear order, and he responded desperately, willing to do anything she wanted if she would just let go, let him have his way.

He had no finesse left, no grace where his fingers met her nipple and his thumb met her clit. If his roughness bothered her, she didn’t say so. In fact, she seemed to revel in it, in his lack of control, and her flowing hips stuttered once, twice, and then again, and she sobbed and clenched as his cock bottomed out.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he moaned as her thighs finally relaxed, and she barely held herself up when he grabbed her hips and pounded up, working mindlessly toward what he knew was going to be a staggering orgasm.

And it was--it hit him hard, mercilessly, and he shouted with the force of it. He buried himself deep and it went on, and he thought his consciousness might have actually left his body for a moment and hovered over them as she fell bonelessly onto him. He could feel her breasts crushed against his chest, rubbing as he continued to thrust, just trying to float through the rest of the powerful wave.

Eventually she moved off him, into a position similar to the one he’d taken the night before, leaving him chilly and sticky. His chest heaved as he tried to gulp in air, and he was suddenly and overwhelmingly thirsty.

Stunned, he blinked blearily at the ceiling. “Jesus Christ.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, and he could tell that she was trying to sound sophisticated, but he thought she sounded as surprised as he was.

He tried to find the words to convince her to see him again. “Listen--”

“No,” she interrupted, apparently knowing what he was going to say. “That’s the only repeat performance we’re going to get.” She patted his shoulder, then rustled awkwardly until she was under the covers and facing the wall. She never once looked at his face. “Hit the road, jack,” she said, but not unkindly.

He wanted to argue, to tell her that he hadn’t had sex like that in months (possibly ever), but he didn’t. It was probably for the best that he left anyway, considering he was going back to Laurel.

_Laurel._

The thought of her and her expectations made him cringe, so he got up to get dressed. As he put on yesterday’s rumpled clothes, he wished for a shower--there was no way he was using the one here in Felicity’s dorm with a bunch of other guys--and idly wondered whether he could find a bar or liquor store open this early in the morning. The post-orgasmic bliss was gone, and he was painfully sober.

Before he left, he turned back and committed the picture of her in bed to memory - dark hair spread out over her pillow, a pale shoulder peeking out of the blanket. He wasn’t generally a sentimental man, he’d slept with plenty of girls whom he’d forgotten the next morning, but for some reason he wanted--needed--to remember this moment and this girl.

“It was nice meeting you, Felicity,” he said to her softly, and walked out the door.

~*~


	2. Results May Vary (December 21, 2007)

Felicity discovered that she was pregnant exactly six weeks later.

Actually, it wasn’t a discovery so much as a confirmation of what she had already feared was true. Her period was late, and it was never late. Through work and school and stress, her Aunt Flo--the ridiculous term her mother used to describe the process--had arrived promptly every month for six years. Until this month, after her first and only night with a man, when it hadn’t arrived at all.

Staring down at the positive pregnancy test in her hands, she resisted the urge to run out to buy and take another one; the odds of a false positive were so incredibly low--and she knew odds, she was a child of Las Vegas--that it wasn’t worth hoping that another test would come up differently. This was reality, and useless hope wouldn’t change it.

As doors clanged and voices came and went around her, in and out of the dorm bathroom where she sat in a stall numbly, she tried to force her frozen brain into motion. Usually her brain raced ahead constantly, through equations and theories and code--but it had jerked to a halt when the second line appeared.

What had gone wrong? She’d had her diaphragm in all night. Granted, it’d been the first time she’d used it, but she was sure she’d gotten everything right. Had it moved? Had she taken it out too early? Clearly she’d done something wrong.

But what did that matter now? It was done, and stewing over it made her angry. She had a class to get to, so she made herself get up when all she wanted to do was go back to her room and hide.

She stuffed the pregnancy test into a pocket in her backpack, washed her hands, and scrubbed her face, trying to get rid of any evidence of the crying she hadn’t realized she’d done.

She drifted through her class, and then that night, and another, pretending like nothing had happened, like nothing was changing, until nausea woke her up in the middle of the night a week later and had her dashing into the bathroom.

By the time she’d emptied her stomach and dragged herself back to bed, she’d come to terms with the fact that the time for pretending was over.

~*~

In the hours that followed the first unpleasant brush with morning sickness, she thought a lot about Oliver, about who he was, about who she was.

She thought about the fight she’d had with her mother the day before she met Oliver, which had covered all of their greatest hits, like Felicity was too rigid and serious and not living her life (Donna-code for Felicity’s non-existent social activities). She thought about how hurt she’d been that her mother still didn’t understand what she was trying to accomplish, after what felt like years and years of Felicity trying to explain herself.

She thought about all the little barbs her older, more worldly roommate had thrown at her about being young and naive and virginal. And although Felicity understood on an intellectual level that it was because Rita was struggling at MIT and resented that she had to share a room with a teenaged genius who breezed through her classes, on an emotional level Felicity wondered whether Donna and Rita were right: was there something fundamentally wrong with her? Was it just that she liked being alone? Did she keep to herself because she wanted to, or because no one wanted to be with a snarky, solemn prodigy?

When she’d gone out that night, it hadn’t been with a plan to pick up a guy. It’d been more of a proof of concept. And maybe she’d wanted to prove to her mother and to Rita that she was open and able to have that other kind of life, if she’d wanted it.

So she’d faked herself an ID, gone to the closest college pick-up bar, and found Oliver, with his terrible floppy hair and his stupid frat boy clothes and his beautiful blue eyes that begged her to like him.

Or he’d found her, that part was kind of hazy. She’d drunk her way through her nerves, so that by the time she and Oliver had started their...thing, she’d felt bold and excited and ready for anything.

And she had been incredibly bold. She still wasn’t sure where that had come from, and remembered that she’d been shocked with herself, and a little horrified, when she’d woken up after the first time. Obviously she’d been been open to the idea of sex, she’d taken precautions (despite what little good that had done), but she’d never thought she’d go through with it, or find someone willing to go with her. Waking up, head muddy with a slight hangover and Oliver drooling on her chest, had been a strange and awkward bolt of reality.

She had no excuse for the second time. What was done was done, she’d told herself, and what could it hurt to see what sex was like without the cocktails to blunt her feelings? And the power she’d felt, over herself and Oliver, how she’d made him desperate and wanting--she still felt a heady rush whenever she thought about it.

She was glad she’d used that power, because although Oliver wasn’t exactly a selfish lover--and nope, she couldn’t use that word, still creepy even in her head--he wasn’t really a thoughtful one either. She’d describe his style as one of benign thoughtlessness. She’d enjoyed herself, but that had been kind of incidental. His moves had been all about getting her into bed, and he hadn’t really known what to do with her once she was in it.

Still, he’d been kind, and gentle when she’d needed it, and had seemed genuinely pleased when she came (three times in one night, which was exactly three times more than she’d climaxed with anyone else). As far as first times went, she’d been pretty happy with the experience.

Right up until she’d had to pee on a stick.

And now, all she could think was: she really showed her mom, huh?

~*~

Rather than sitting down for a long lunch like she usually did, Felicity took her break between classes that day to walk over to Temple Etz Chaim.

She wasn’t a member, hadn’t been a member of any congregation since Vegas, but she needed the tranquility of a temple to calm her enough to figure out what was next.

There was a woman behind a welcome desk against the left side of the lobby, and she almost passed it just to sit in the sanctuary quietly. But the woman smiled at her, so she detoured to the desk instead.

The woman, a middle-aged lady with a pretty cap of dark red hair and a nametag that said _Janet_ , perked up when she saw Felicity was coming over. “Hi! Thanks for stopping in - did you have an appointment with someone?”

“No,” Felicity replied. “I was just coming by to--do you know if a rabbi is available to talk to me?”

Janet opened a leather-bound calendar on the desk. “Let me see, if you have time we can probably write you in for later with one of the clergy--”

For some reason, she really, really didn't want her name in that book, now or later. She took a step back, regretting having stopped. “No! No, that's okay, I'll just call later.”

The woman looked up quickly, and whatever she saw in Felicity’s face made her own soften. “Actually, I bet Rabbi Beider is around here somewhere. Why don't you go wait in the sanctuary while I look?”

Felicity gave her tense smile and nodded, and then moved to a chair near the front of the room.

Sitting in the sanctuary reminded her of why she came; it wasn't a huge space, but it felt airy and open with its white walls and the big windows lining all four sides. There was light and peace here, and for a few minutes Felicity just closed her eyes and sat, trying to feel God’s presence.

“Hello,” a voice said quietly, and Felicity looked up to see a blonde woman in dark slacks and a peach sweater standing patiently nearby. “Janet said you were wanting to speak with me?”

Relieved that the rabbi was a woman (for reasons that were probably sexist if she thought about them), Felicity nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“Can we sit here, or would you prefer more privacy?”

They were the only people in the sanctuary, so Felicity waved to the seat next to her. “This is fine. I'm Felicity,” she said.

“Call me Rivka,” she replied, shaking Felicity’s hand and settling back. “What can I help you with today, Felicity?”

Felicity opened her mouth, but found herself at a loss for words. “Well, I’m just going to say it. I’m pregnant and unwed,” surprised that she was able to find humor in what otherwise felt like a pretty bleak situation.

Rivka’s mouth twitched, like she wanted to smile but thought better of it. “And I’m guessing this was unplanned?”

“Extremely unplanned, and I’m great at plans. I have a whole five-year plan with short-, mid-, and long-term goals with prioritized tiers and backup strategies. There are actual charts. Nowhere in there did I account for surprise babies.”

At some point during that string of words Felicity started to lose her composure, and by the time it was over her voice was wobbly and her cheeks were wet.

Rivka put a hand lightly on Felicity’s shoulder in an unexpectedly comforting gesture. “Felicity, I don’t know if this will help, I hope it does, but you are not the first young woman I’ve counseled about this. You’re not even the youngest. You’re not alone.”

Felicity sniffed, tried to stem the tide of tears that just kept flowing. “What do you normally tell them do to?”

This time Rivka did smile, though it was with sympathy rather than humor. “Did you come here hoping I would tell you what to do?”

“Yeah, yeah, that would be great,” Felicity joked weakly before getting serious. “I know what my first instinct is. And I know in general how the faith approaches these things. And between the two...I just don’t know.”

Rivka nodded in understanding. “Have you told the father yet?”

“No,” Felicity admitted. “I’m not sure I’m going to.”

“Is there a reason I should advise you not to?” At Felicity’s blank look, she tentatively added, “Is he abusive? Are you concerned he might become abusive if you shared this with him?”

Abusive? Oliver? The man who, without being asked, immediately froze during sex because she was uncomfortable? “No. I mean, I don’t know him that well.” Felicity felt a bolt of shame at that, but Rivka didn’t show any reaction. “But no. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Good. Then can I ask why you don’t want to tell him?”

“He’s just--He’s not--” Felicity sighed. “I just don’t think he’d handle it well, and I’m stressed out enough as it is.”

“I understand that. But I think you should consider telling him, if only to share some of the stress you’re feeling. He’s a part of this too.”

Yes, Oliver was a part of it, but he was also an unknown quantity. She knew nothing about him except his name and what he looked liked naked. That was hardly a foundation for trust. Felicity cringed, and avoided meeting Rivka’s eyes by picking at a loose thread in her jeans.

Rivka rubbed Felicity’s shoulder to get her to look up. “I’m not saying you can’t do this on your own. God made you, and he gave you the capacity to handle this gracefully and morally - all your intelligence, all your compassion, all your wisdom, he gave those to you so that you could make the best possible decision for you and your pregnancy. But God also gave those things to your partner, and you have to trust he’ll use them to help you. He deserves to know what he’s made.”

“Hmm,” was all Felicity said, and then changed the subject.

~*~

Felicity settled in front of her computer later that night, having decided that yes, she may have a responsibility to call Oliver, but she was going to know everything she could about him first.

Rita hadn’t been back to their dorm in a few days; their relationship had deteriorated badly in the last several weeks (Rita’s cutting remarks about Felicity’s now-gone virginity just reminded her of how stupid she’d been), and now Rita spent all of her time at her boyfriend’s place, which suited Felicity just fine. Hacking was a solitary activity anyway.

As it turned out, very little hacking was required. There was a huge amount of information about the Queens just in the public record, and about Oliver especially. As a renowned playboy he was something of a tabloid darling, and his often alcohol-fueled exploits against paparazzi, property, and police were equally well-documented.

But that hadn’t shocked her (honestly, hadn’t even really surprised her) nearly as much as finding out that he was Oliver Queen, of the Queen Consolidated Queens. Queen Consolidated, a multinational company, one of the biggest conglomerates on the West Coast. It also had one of the best technology divisions out there--she was researching Oliver on a computer she built with components produced by his family’s company.

Holy _frack_ , she was pregnant with the Queen CEO’s possible-future grandchild.

How? How had this happened? Why was Oliver even in that bar, when he could have been in any bar anywhere in the world? How had he found her, when he could have had any other woman _anywhere else_?

Why was Oliver the kind of guy who got blackout drunk and picked up random girls, when one day he would have the power, the influence, the wealth that his father had?

Although, she probably just answered her own question.

Spiraling wasn’t helping. It wouldn’t get her anywhere but crazy town. Grabbing her phone, she entered his phone number, and then went to sit on her bed while she tried to force herself to hit _Send_.

It took her a few minutes to psych herself up, and she finally hit the button with a squeak. She pressed the phone hard to ear and listened anxiously while it rang.

It rang for so long that she was sure his voicemail was going to pick up--which she had _not_ prepared herself for, what was the etiquette for leaving a message telling someone they’d knocked you up?--when finally the call connected.

“Hello?” Oliver’s voice, open and deeper than she remembered.

“Oliver? It’s Felicity,” she said, and then braced herself for his recognition.

“Felicity?” He suddenly sounded much quieter, like he didn’t want to be overheard.

“Yes, do you have a second? I need to--”

“How did you get this number?” Oliver cut in, sounding annoyed and concerned, and Felicity wondered how often he got angry post-blow off calls from his conquests.

Which was probably uncalled for considering that _she’d_ been the one to blow _him_ off, and she _had_ hacked his cell phone company to get his number. But also considering that she was pregnant and going out of her way to give him some input over what she did about it, she wasn't in a mood to tolerate his suspicion.

“I found it,” she said shortly, “but that's not important--”

“It's unlisted, how did you _find_ it?” Oliver asked lowly, and she could hear voices and the tinkling laugh of a little girl in the background.

Felicity remembered reading that he had a young sister, what was her name? Thea. She must have caught him at home with his sister, and the mental image of him having to step away from her to take this call had Felicity softening toward him a bit.

She took a deep, cleansing breath, hoping it wasn't audible over the phone. “Oliver, I'm sorry, I know this is a breach of privacy. I promise I’m not stalking you, but I needed to tell you something. I'm--” One more breath for courage. “I’m pregnant.”

There is was a long silence on his end of the line, so quiet that she thought she must have lost him. “Oliver? Are you there?”

“Wait,” he said tensely, and a few moments later she finally heard what she thought was the sound of a door closing. “You're pregnant?” He asked dully, like he didn't quite understand the meaning of the words.

She willed herself to be patient. “Yes,” and just in case he still wasn't sure who she was, added, “This is Felicity. Smoak. Felicity Smoak from that night in Cambridge--”

“I remember,” he interrupted. “I remember you. I'm just…”

“Processing. I understand.” She'd been where he was, she'd just had a little more time to deal with it than he had. “Look, I just thought you'd want to know. I don't expect--I'm not asking you for anything.”

“I'm going to come see you,” he said suddenly. “Can I see you tomorrow, in the afternoon?”

She took the phone away from her ear and blinked at it for a second, then returned it. “You're going to come out here? All the way from Starling City?”

“Yeah, I'll fly. I just think we should talk about this in person. Can I meet you somewhere?”

Her mind went blank. He actually wanted to see her and talk about it? _Voluntarily_? She thought she would tell him over the phone, he would say _yeah, noted, whatever you want to do_ , and she would have done her moral duty.

She never expected that he would actually _care_.

Realizing that he was still waiting, she cleared her throat. “Yeah. Yeah, do you remember where my dorm is?”

“Yeah. I'll meet you there at three?”

She nodded, then remembered he couldn't see it. “Okay. Oliver, what are you going to tell people? Isn't your family going to wonder why you're taking a last minute trip to the East Coast? I don't think you should tell them about me yet.”

“I'll think of something. I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow, Felicity.”

“Okay. Bye, Oliver.” And the connection went dead.

Felicity spent a long time sitting on her bed, staring at her phone, wondering how she could have misjudged Oliver so completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick reminder that there is no update schedule for this fic.


	3. Fish or Cut Bait (December 28, 2007)

Oliver went to bed early that night telling himself that everything would be fine, and got up early the next morning repeating it.

He told his parents that he was thinking of transferring back to Harvard in the spring, and that one of his old professors was willing to meet with him between the holidays to talk him through it. If they were surprised by his abrupt request to use the jet, they didn’t say so; he thought they must have been so happy about him wanting to go back to school on his own that they didn’t question it.

He told himself that it wasn’t a big deal, he’d see Felicity and they would figure it out, and everything would be fine. He didn’t even dare think about what _it_ was. 

So when they set down at Logan, when he deplaned and the car picked him up right off the tarmac, when they made the fifteen minute drive to Felicity’s dorm, he wasn’t nervous or upset. Because it wasn’t a big deal, and everything was going to be fine.

He thought that as he got out of the car with his overnight bag and told the driver he’d call him back when he was needed, as he turned around and walked through the snow to the entrance of the dorm and saw her sitting on a bench in front of it.

He thought that until she looked up and he saw her face.

Not even her dark makeup, which was even bolder since the last time he saw her, could hide the fear and worry and fatigue there. Even when she schooled her expression in an attempt to hide her feelings, they were plain in the way she absently tugged her knitted cap over her ears, in the way she fidgeted with a chunky bracelet on her wrist under her heavy coat.

It was then, finally, that it struck Oliver how real, how serious this was. He’d been careless, and his carelessness had done--was doing--real damage to another person.

Felicity stood up as he got nearer. “Hi.”

There was a knot in his throat, a ball of anxiety in his chest. “Hi. Do you, uh, you want to go inside?”

“No,” she said quickly, and he immediately understood why she wouldn’t want to go back up to her room. Too many memories up there of their brief interlude, too many potential pitfalls. “But it’s too cold to stay out here - there’s a coffee shop a few blocks down, do you mind if we go there?”

“Sure.”

They didn’t speak on the walk over, and the silence was oppressive. Oliver’s mind raced over questions and implications and concerns - what was she thinking? Her face was so expressive, but it was turned toward the ground as she walked carefully to avoid ice, and he couldn’t see any clue as to what her thoughts were.

They reached the door of the coffee shop and he held it open for her, but when she moved up onto the step her boot slipped over a slick patch of ice. His arm shot out on instinct to catch her around the waist, and she fell into him rather than back over the stoop.

She grabbed onto his coat until she got her feet under herself again, and looked up at him in surprise. “Oh,” she said, and there was a moment of charged connection, in which Oliver ordered himself futilely to get a grip and take a step back, literally and figuratively.

She caught herself before he could manage it. She released his coat and, eyes averted, moved back carefully. “Thanks,” she murmured, and gingerly made her way into the cafe.

The ball of anxiety in his chest fell like lead into his stomach, and having no idea what to say, he simply followed after her. 

There weren’t many people in the shop, probably due to the weather, and so they were able to walk right up to the counter to give their orders. Felicity ordered a latte with an extra shot, and then slid a defiant glance over at him, as if she was daring him to comment on her intention to drink caffeine. Knowing better, Oliver ignored it and waited wordlessly for their coffee while Felicity went into an adjoining room to find a table.

With their drinks in hand, Oliver found her in the spacious room; she’d forgone the many tables to sit at a long bench with it’s back to the front window. It was a nice view--they could see all the way across the road to the iced-over Charles River. There were few cars out braving the snow, even at this time of day, and just a few students making their way from classes to dorms or jobs and back again.

Hair freed from her hat and falling across her face, she sat sideways on the bench, one leg up and tucked under her other knee so that she could look at outside.

She looked, suddenly, very young and very, very alone.

He handed her coffee over, and then sat down, mirroring her pose to face her.

He was as lost for words now as he was outside with her in his arms. “When do you have to be back?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t. I skipped my last class to meet you.”

For some reason, that made him feel guilty, guiltier about that than what they’d come here to deal with. “I’m sorry.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I don’t miss a lot of classes, so I’m due.”

Quiet reigned again, and he decided there was really nothing for it. “And you're sure?”

He hoped, in the resigned way that desperate people hoped things, that she would say it'd been a mistake, that her period had just been late or that the test was somehow wrong.

He didn’t have to qualify what he was asking about, because she replied patiently, like she'd been expecting the question. “Yes, I'm sure. And it's yours. I never...I haven't been with anyone else. And I promise, I had protection, it just didn't work, and I swear I didn't know who you were when we were together, it just happ--”

“I know, Felicity,” he said when he saw she was getting more upset and the ramble became more insistent. “I know that.”

He'd known at the time, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she'd never had sex before. That he was her first. He hadn't really cared then, hadn't understood just what that meant. What it could have meant.

Now, now he felt like he had taken something from her that had nothing to do with sex. Something important, something that he couldn't give back. And that, along with the fact she was trying to reassure him that she wasn't trying to trap him, like this situation was some kind of personal failing on her part, inexplicably made him want to cry.

Or maybe it was explicable. Either way, it was certainly overwhelming.

“How are you...how are you feeling?” Overwhelmed or not, he had manners, although he doubted this is what his mother had in mind when she drilled the importance of politeness into him.

She smiled, a lopsided one that seemed rueful. “Fine. I get sick most nights, but during the day I feel normal. Sometimes I forget it's even happening.”

“That’s good,” he said, and then sighed at the lameness of that statement. He really couldn't be more out of his element. “Do you know how you want to handle this?”

She shook her head, all traces of humor gone. “No idea. Someone told me that I should trust you, have faith that you could help with this. That’s why I called you.”

_God_ , he thought. _Oh god_. He wandered if the panic showed on his face.

And because he didn’t know what else to say to that, he started with the truth, however insensitive it was. “I have to tell you...I’m sorry.” He couldn’t look her in the face when he said it, so looked at the river instead. “I have a girlfriend.”

She froze--everything about her went instantly still. “Okay, I...I understand. It’s not like we made any commitments when we were together. I knew what it was.”

He closed his eyes. “No. No, I...I’ve _had_ a girlfriend. Her name is Laurel. We’ve been together on and off for years. We were still on when I met you at the bar.”

“You…” She said, then stopped. There was a storm brewing in her eyes, and Oliver braced himself. “You were in a relationship with someone else when we...when we were together?”

He met her eyes levelly, although what he really wanted to do was escape. “Yes.”

She got up in a rush, held her hair behind neck. “You cheated. You made _me_ a cheater.”

She paced to the side and back, and then reared on him again. “How could you do that? I never would have slept with you if I’d known!”

He nodded. “I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

She sucked in a breath, her eyes filled with tears, and his stomach turned. 

“ _What is wrong with you_?” Her voice raised, and Oliver felt a stab of alarm that the baristas in the shop would hear her and come in to see what was going on. But then she released her hair, pressed her fingers against her eyes, and continued in a small voice. “Oh god. What is wrong with _me_? I didn’t ask if you were single. I didn’t even ask. Oh god, what am I going to do?”

The anguish, the sheer dread in her voice, had him sitting up straight and repressing the urge to reach for her. “Felicity--”

“No. Shut up,” she said, voice hard. “ _Why_?”

He shrugged, a thoughtless movement that belied just how awful he felt. “She wanted us to get our own apartment, move in together.”

Her eyes, piercing and angry, felt like daggers. “So what, you thought you’d have one last hurrah with an unsuspecting college girl before you headed into yuppie bliss?” When he looked away, she blew out a breath. “No, that’s not it. You were trying to sabotage it, weren’t you?”

He nodded, abruptly hating himself. “I did a really good job of it, too.”

She stood, spine straight and shoulders back, eyes blazing and ready for battle. The judgement bore into him, reminiscent of the measuring way she’d looked at him the night they were together, and he knew she would find him wanting.

Everyone found him wanting. He wasn’t a smart man, he wasn’t a doting son, he wasn’t a business mind. He was a good brother, but only because that came easy to him. He’d never be what anyone wanted him to be. It just wasn’t in him.

But after a minute, to his great shock, her shoulders settled and her posture relaxed. She shook her head, and although there was disappointment and weariness in it, he didn’t see the dismissal he’d been so afraid of.

Sighing, she sat back down next to him on the bench. “I don’t suppose it occurred to you to just tell her you didn’t want to move in with her?”

“I didn’t want to disappoint her.”

She scoffed. “You mean you were too cowardly to be honest with her and deal with the consequences.”

It stung quite a bit that she’d said it, and stung more because it was true.

When he didn’t say anything, she sighed again. “I don’t know Laurel, Oliver, but I don’t have to know her to tell you that this, what we did, is going to hurt her. Not just that we cheated, but that I got pregnant. It hurts _me_. You get that, right?”

“I get it.” Just acknowledging that made his chest hurt, and it wasn’t even close to the apology she--or Laurel--deserved.

“How could I have been so stupid?” she said miserably. “I got out of Vegas. I got out, and I’m so close to finishing my degrees. Did you know I’m on track to be one of the youngest people ever to graduate MIT with dual graduate degrees?” 

Oliver shook his head, guilt closing his throat. He hadn’t known she was a graduate student - he’d assumed she was working on her bachelor’s degree like the other students in her dorm. He hadn’t cared to ask.

Christ, he barely knew anything about her. He didn’t even know how old she was.

“Well, I am. I’m only the second person in my family to ever go to college. My mother is a cocktail waitress. And she was a single mother, too. She gave up everything for me, for my father, and he left her anyway. Technically, I did too, although she’s never said so out loud. I know she thinks it.” 

She was just talking now, not necessarily to him. It seemed like she was just working through a jumble of thoughts in her head, and although he had questions, it seemed better just to let her get it out. “And now I’ve basically turned out just like her. Not that I don’t like her, I do. She took care of me. She did her best, she did okay. I made it here despite everything. If she can do it, I can do it, right? And I don’t know if I can... _not_ have a baby. I think about ending this, and I don't know if I feel relieved or horrified. But then...I don't know how to have a baby and do the things I planned. I don't think it's possible.”

“So that’s it, right?” She said, voice high and tight with the tears making tracks down her cheeks. “This is going to hurt people. You have a girlfriend, and I can’t afford a baby. On any level. So there’s my answer, I guess.”

This wasn’t how he wanted her to make this decision, by what felt like coercion. She clearly felt like she didn’t have any other choice, and it was because he’d put her in an impossible position. For the first time in his life, it was clear to him just how badly he’d screwed up, and that the consequences weren’t just his.

“Felicity…”

“What?”

“I’m not ready to be a father--”

“Good, then we’re agreed,” she snapped, angrily wiping her eyes. “And I’m not ready to be a mother!”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “That’s not what I meant, or at least not all that I meant. You didn’t let me finish. I just--I don't want to pressure you either way. If you want to end it, I'll support you. But if you don't…” He stopped, tried to gather his thoughts, to say exactly what he wanted to say and no less. 

“I can't promise that I'll be any real help, I don't know what the hell I’m doing _now_ , let alone as--as someone's father. But I do have money. If that's the reason why you think you can't keep the--why you can't stay pregnant, that's something I can help you with. I can give you money, security.”

She pressed her hands to face. “Oliver, please, _please_ tell me you're not offering to marry me.” She sounded slightly panicked.

“No,” he said immediately, startled. “God, no. That would be a terrible idea, even I know that. But you do have resources now. You can still finish school, find somewhere to live.”

She dropped her hands and shook her head incredulously. “Do you understand what that would mean for you, a commitment like that? There's no way for you to support me long-term and have no one find out about it. A kid is forever, Oliver, and I won’t hide out here raising your secret love child.”

He thought about what would happen if she took him up on his offer: he’d have to tell Laurel, his mother, God, his father. He imagined their judgement and disappointment and anger, and it was all he could do not to take it all back, not to run away right then.

But he couldn’t. This was his fault, and he had to at least try to take responsibility. “I’m not asking you to. There are no strings. I’m just saying that if you want this, you can have it. Both our lives don't have to be over.”

She gave him a sad, assessing look. “You think your life is over?”

“As I knew it, yeah. Whatever happens, things are going be different.”

_Good._ He could see the statement plainly on her face, and would have laughed if the whole situation wasn’t so serious. It was obvious she thought he was wasting his life, even if she drew the line at saying so. He supposed he should be grateful for that, seeing as she hadn’t exactly pulled her punches before.

“Do you have to decide now?” he asked.

She rubbed her arms, looked out through the window. She looked a little calmer, if no less troubled. “Sooner is better, but I'm only seven weeks, so we have some time if you need to think about it more.” 

Her eyes darted over to him and away again. “I do care about what you want, Oliver. But I have to do what’s best for me.”

“I understand.” And he did. He wondered if he should be relieved that she was taking most of the decision out of his hands, but he didn’t. He was surprised to feel almost sad. Sad and drained. 

“If we have some time, then...my father is going on a business trip to China this weekend. He’ll be gone for a few weeks. I think I might go with him,” Oliver told her. He hadn’t thought he would, but all of this...it was a lot. They both needed to think.

Felicity looked at him sideways. “How nice it must be to be able to run away whenever you want.”

He flushed a little, ashamed, because although that wasn’t really the reason he was going, he had thought of it that way, at least a little bit. As a kind of temporary escape. 

“It’s not that,” he said, then seeing her knowing gaze, added, “Or it’s not just that. I think you need some space, to be sure about what you want.” He stopped, laughed without much humor. “And I need space. I need to get my head around it.”

“If there’s going to be anything to get your head around, you need to tell your girlfriend what happened,” Felicity said, and her eyes had gone stubborn. “I can’t take anything from you otherwise. I meant it when I said I won’t be a secret. I’m not asking for a relationship, but I won’t be part of a lie either.”

“Felicity--”

“No, Oliver. You owe me this, and you owe her the truth. It isn’t going to miraculously get better while you’re gone. Don’t leave this hanging over your heads, or it’ll just be worse when you get back.”

He honestly didn’t know if he was capable of it. If he couldn’t tell Laurel he didn’t want to move in with her, how could he look her in the eye and tell her that he’d cheated on her, and while cheating on her got another woman pregnant?

He swallowed. “I’ll try.”

She broke eye contact to look back at the river. “Don’t try, Oliver,” she said softly. “Do.”

He nodded, and then moved on. “We're taking my father’s yacht. We'll have a satellite phone, and I can't guarantee I'll always have access to it or when we'll make port, but I’ll give you the number so you can call. Can you--I know it's not fair to ask, especially when I'm going away, but…” he paused, snagged her sleeve with the tips of his fingers. “If you decide what you want to do, will you tell me first?”

Felicity sighed, but it seemed more melancholy than put upon. “Yeah. Okay.”

“I can call you too, check in with you,” he started, unsure. “If that’s okay?”

There were things he wanted to know about her, or at least felt like he should know about her if...if. The basics, of course, but also why someone as intelligent and driven as she was had gotten into bed with someone like him in the first place. Now didn’t seem like the time to press for it, not when she was looked so tired and and was still so unsure of him, but at some point he would need the answers.

It was an odd feeling to be in the middle of everything happening and not know _why_.

She turned back to him with a slight smile, her blue eyes bright. “That’s fine.”

There was a delicateness to her, but he could see the steel and strength underneath it as well, and despite his fear and confusion and wariness, he had to admire her for it.

Which is why he didn’t know how she would take what he was about to do, debated the wisdom of it considering her ultimatum earlier, but decided to hell with it. He pulled out his wallet and took out the cash he’d taken out of his stash before he left Starling.

Without a word, he folded the money and placed it directly in her hand so that she had to at least take it before she tried to refuse it.

Bewildered, Felicity looked down at the money and drew in a sharp breath when she counted it. “Oliver, this a thousand dollars!” she hissed, thrusting the money back toward him.

He put a hand up. “I know, but”--

“I said I wouldn’t--”

“I know what you said,” he snapped, because he couldn’t forget it. “Believe me, I heard it. But if you need something while I’m gone, a checkup or...anything else, you’ll need it. And I don’t think you should have to use your own money.”

She stared at him. “Oliver, I have $1500 in my savings account.”

“Okay,” he said, confused and shaking his head, “now you’ll have more.”

“It took me three summers working to earn that much,” she said, annoyance and something like pride in her voice.

“Felicity, I don’t understand the problem.”

“Of course you don’t,” she said as she pressed her hand against her forehead, still looking at the money as if it was going to sprout teeth and bite her. “You just hand this out to anyone like it’s pocket change. No big deal.”

“I’m not ‘handing it out to anyone,’ I’m giving it to you. And you should probably get used to it, because this is something I can do. If you decide to keep the baby, this won’t be the last time I give you money.”

A short, heavy silence followed, and Oliver realized that it was the first time since they sat down that he’d acknowledged their reality out loud. Felicity might be having a child. _His_ child. This was real and terrifying.

“Okay,” she started, then cleared her throat. “Okay, I’ll try to get used to it.”

“Don’t try,” he said gently, voice rough as gave her words back to her. “Do.”

He got a small smile out of her with that, but it was short-lived. “Oliver, I’m still really not sure--”

“I know,” he hurried to say. “This isn’t to sway you at all. It’s just...in case.”

“So, wow,” Felicity turned and secured the money in her bag. “This got really complicated, didn’t it?”

“Yeah. More my fault than yours,” he said, thinking he really didn’t like how responsibility felt on his shoulders. He much preferred his carefree life of yesterday, but there was nothing to be done about that now. Besides, if this weighed so heavily on him, when he could--and was about to--leave and not have to think about it if he didn’t want to, he could only imagine how Felicity felt. It was her body changing, her life that was affected the most.

He hadn’t spent much of his life, any of it really, thinking of another person’s feelings. He wasn’t sure he cared for that either.

She moved and planted both feet on the floor, forced a smile in his direction. “I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I had a part in it, too.”

Every time he thought they had settled and reached some kind of understanding, something shifted and the air between them would get awkward and charged. He had no idea what to do about it.

He rubbed his palms on his thighs. “I should probably get going.” 

He stood and she followed. “Yeah, I can probably still make it to the lab, make up some of the time I missed.”

“Do you want me to drop you there? I can just call my driver.” He held up his cell phone as proof of how easy it would be.

“No, I can walk, it’s just up the road.”

He frowned, remembering her slip outside. “Are you sure? It’s really icy.”

“I’m sure,” she said, humor warming her voice. “I’ve survived a few Mass winters now, I think I can handle it.”

So they disposed of their empty cups, and Oliver escorted her as far as the sidewalk, where they paused again. Oliver waited a minute, warring over whether he should give in and move in for the hug his arms seemed to crave. And wondered, with a lot of confusion, why a hug would feel so intimate after what they done to make a baby.

But Felicity looked up at him, and her face was open, so he stopped thinking about hugging her and stepped in to just do it. She came in easy and seemed to fold into him. He’d forgotten how small she was--even in her heeled boots she barely made it past his chin--and the way she squeezed him just slightly and let go, as if she wanted comfort but was afraid to ask for it, made his throat ache.

He resisted the urge to bury his face in her hair, and instead just pulled her closer for a few moments. “I’m sorry, Felicity. I’m really sorry.”

She didn’t reply right away, just made a sad kind of noise. Her voice was clear, if quiet, when she did. “Bye Oliver. Enjoy your trip.”

“Goodbye, Felicity,” he said, and he knew that was his cue to let her go. If they had a relationship, he wouldn’t have to, he could hold her for as long as he wanted. But they didn’t have a relationship, and nothing was really settled. He still had Laurel, and he might not have her for much longer, but he’d done enough damage there. So he needed to let Felicity go, at least for now.

But he was scared to. He didn’t know why, but it felt like an ending.

Felicity broke the embrace first, and Oliver felt oddly bereft. “I’ll call you and check in before I leave,” he said to distract himself, and she nodded, gave a little wave, and then turned to quickly walk back the way they came.

It started to snow, little spurts of white flakes that stuck to his face and coat. He stood in it, watching her for a long time before he pulled out his cell and called the car service. He couldn’t shake the finality that welled up as he watched her go.

Oliver couldn’t put a name to the feeling, and later he would wonder if it had been some kind of premonition. Because he didn’t know it then, but that would be last time he would touch Felicity Smoak for nearly five years.


	4. Be Careful What You Wish For (December 29, 2007)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In that moment, he wished for so many things, none of which were particularly good: he wished he was on the boat already, sailing away from the reminders of his problems; he wished Felicity and Laurel would absolve him, and in lieu of that, just forgive him. He didn’t want to earn it or wait for it, he just wanted it done. He wished for a shortcut, so that he could jump ahead to a place where he didn’t have to feel guilty or think about it anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, another chapter! Thank you all for hanging in there.
> 
> We're coming up on the end of the chronological chapters, basically this one and the next. You'll notice that the chapters are getting longer, and the next is going to be _really_ long, so I'm considering splitting it up so that a) you don't have to wait as long for an update, and b) so that it’s not as unwieldy to read. If I do, I'll note it before the chapter.
> 
> peacefulboo has been instrumental in keeping me encouraged and this chapter on track; thank you so much for your help.

Oliver's cheek was still stinging when he walked into the mansion.

He'd just come from the Lance house, where telling Laurel had gone as horribly as he'd expected it would, although she hadn't yelled or cried as he anticipated. He wished she had, because the deep, quiet hurt that filled her eyes as he came clean had been so much worse than tears.

And then there was her anger, which built up slowly as his confession settled in, and finally erupted as the word _pregnant_ fell like an anvil between them. The slap had been a surprise only because Laurel was so much more skilled with words than violence, not because he didn't deserve it.

Weirdly, though, the slap had been something of a relief, because even her anger was silent. As painful as being struck had been and still was, at least it was over, and he didn't have to feel the oppressive dread of her reaction anymore.

In the end he'd gotten exactly what he wanted when he decided to fall into another woman's bed: he and Laurel wouldn't be moving in together. Actually, they wouldn't be doing anything together, since she no longer wanted anything to do with him.

He held no illusions that it would blow over this time. Their on-again, off-again relationship was permanently off.

It was a truth that felt terrible.

He wanted a drink desperately, but the house was too busy with people to indulge from his parents’ expensive liquor--his father had business associates over to finalize some last-minute details before their trip, and his mother and her staff were doing their part to make them all comfortable--so he decided to raid his own collection of booze he'd hidden away for private parties in his room. It wasn't as good, but at this point any alcohol would do.

He'd just gotten into his closet and the box tucked away behind some clothes when he heard his bedroom door open. “Ollie?”

Thea. Her door had been open when he passed it in the hall, and she must have heard him come in. He closed his eyes, took a slow, calming breath, and then shoved the box back where he found it. Then he grabbed a few polo shirts in one hand and a suitcase in the other, and walked back out of his closet. “Hey Speedy, I was just packing. Wanna help?”

With as much as he'd been away lately, and with their parents so busy with the company, he knew Thea had to be lonely. She'd spent more time with Raisa recently than she had with her own family, and now Oliver was leaving again for weeks over New Years, a holiday they'd always celebrated together.

It was just more guilt to pile on to his already steep mountain of misery, and Oliver contemplated kicking Thea out so he could get quickly and thoroughly drunk and forget he'd ever gone to Boston in the first place.

But Oliver told himself that there would be plenty of time for that while he floated on a yacht in the middle of the ocean, so instead he set his things on his bed and reached out to ruffle Thea’s hair, which was already falling wildly around her shoulders.

“Hey, don't, I just brushed it,” she whined, smoothing the dark locks back into place.

He forced a laugh. “Sorry, I couldn't tell.”

Thea stuck out her tongue, then hopped up on his bed and crossed her legs. She frowned when she looked up at him. “Why is the side of your face red?”

He hid a wince. “Dry skin,” he said, doing his best to turn his face away as he unzipped the suitcase and opened it to lay flat on the bed.

“You don’t get dry skin,” she said quizzically.

“Well, I do today,” he said shortly. “Do you want to help or not?”

“Yes, geez,” she replied, rolling her eyes. Then she mumbled, “Someone's grumpy.”

He sighed. “Sorry. I just really need to get this done. We're leaving this afternoon.”

She seemed to stew over that while she took out the folded clothes he'd put into the suitcase, rolling them instead and tucking them back in. After a few minutes, she spoke up hopefully, “I could come too? It won't take me long to pack after I help you.”

“You have school,” he said.

“So do you,” she shot back.

“The spring semester doesn't start until February, I'll be back in plenty of time.” It wasn't a lie, exactly; classes at Harvard did start late, he just didn't really intend to be there when they did.

Except, depending on what Felicity decided, Harvard might be back on the table as more than a cover story by the time he and his Dad got back. He'd need to be there to support her, wouldn't he? The thought made his heart beat uncomfortably in his chest, a weird feeling that could have been excitement or trepidation.

Not for the first time, he wanted someone to talk to, someone who would help him sort out his feelings, understand his fears, and reassure him that he was doing the right thing. His mother would know what to do, and he'd very nearly gone to her the night Felicity called to break the news, but then a rush of shame and embarrassment had stopped him.

Telling his mother meant explaining what he'd done--the cheating and the drinking--and he just couldn't bear disappointing her like that again, especially after she'd been so approving and happy about his going back to school (and even that had been a lie he’d have to explain). He knew he'd have to tell her eventually, he couldn't hide it forever, but he just wanted to put if off as long as possible.

He briefly considered telling Tommy, but dismissed it nearly as quickly as he thought it. Tommy was his best friend and a good guy, but he was too much like Oliver to be any real help. Tommy would likely try to convince him to run, and considering he was constantly fighting that instinct already, Oliver would cave. Oliver also didn't want the reminder of what assholes they’d been, worrying about being ‘trapped’ by a girl, like their own behavior had nothing to do with it.

“So I'll miss a week at school,” Thea shrugged, totally unaware of his inner turmoil, “lots of kids do for vacations.”

“It's not a vacation, Thea, it's a business trip. You'll be bored out of your mind. Besides, you'll never convince Mom.”

“No, but you might. You could talk to her, ask her to let me out of school so we can spend time together,” she said plaintively, eyes big.

Another bolt of guilt ran through him. At twelve, Thea already knew how to work people, how to manipulate a situation to her advantage. It was a lesson that the Queen kids learned young. But he could tell that wasn't what she was doing. She honestly wanted to go on the trip so that she could spend time with her brother and her father.

It wasn’t that kind of trip for Oliver, however, and he’d always drawn a line between Thea and whatever trouble he could get himself into. If anyone ever asked why, he would say it was because she was still so young, that she had plenty of time to find her own vices.

But he was self-aware enough to know that, deep down, it was because he didn’t want it for her. She was sweeter, smarter, better than he was in every way. She was actually going to do something with her life, despite the studied aimlessness she observed running after him and Tommy all the time.

Oliver needed room to breathe, to get his head on straight. And yes, space to bury his anxiety and fear and pain in whatever substance he could get his hands on for a few weeks. He couldn’t do that around Thea, and that meant she couldn’t come with them.

“Thea,” he said, sitting down next to her on the bed. “Honestly, I just need to get away by myself for a while.”

She crossed her arms, and familiar gesture that indicated she was preparing to dig in her heels. “You’re going with Dad,” she pointed out stubbornly.

“But on a work trip. Trust me, Dad won’t want me anywhere near his investors or whoever he’s going to meet,” Oliver said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“You know that’s not true. He’s probably super happy that you’ll be on a boat where you can’t escape from his business 101 lectures.” When that made him smile, Thea deflated. “You hate those lectures. Why do you even want to go?”

He sighed again, knowing now that there was no way to avoid telling Thea the truth, or at least a version of the truth, without hurting her feelings. “Laurel and I broke up.”

She lifted a shoulder. “So? She’ll calm down and you’ll say something to fix it and you guys’ll get back together. Faster if you stay, too.”

That depressing summation of their relationship didn’t help his mood. “We’re not getting back together this time.”

When she saw he was serious, her eyes widened and her mouth dropped. “Really? Why not?”

There was no way in hell he could tell her it was because there was chance she was going to become an aunt at thirteen to a kid whose mother wasn’t Laurel. “We’re just not.”

Thea and Laurel were close. They’d hit it off immediately after Oliver first brought Laurel home, and that rapport was probably a major reason he and Laurel had hung on as long as they did. So it’s not surprising to Oliver that Thea would take news of the break up hard. 

Her small frame bunched up defensively. “But why-”

“Thea!” He said curtly, then made an effort to soften it when he saw her lips tremble. “I’m sorry, I know you’re disappointed. But that’s between me and Laurel.”

Thea turned away from him and started rearranging the contents of his suitcase. He couldn’t see her face, but he was willing to bet she was still upset. “Laurel and I may be broken up, but that doesn’t mean you can’t see her anymore. She still likes _you_.”

He heard her sniff, then huff. “Of course she still likes me, I’m awesome.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, he had to fight back a grin at her bravado. “Eh, you’re okay.”

She turned quickly and punched his arm. “Hey!”

He laughed. “Your fists are so tiny, it’s like being bitten by a mosquito. Actually, I take that back, at least mosquito bites hurt.”

She punched him again, this time harder, and it did sting a bit. Not that he would ever let on. “Pathetic.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed, but she looked less upset at least. He threw an arm around her shoulders. “When I get back, we’ll take a whole day and do something fun, okay? I’ll even pick a school day so you can play hooky.”

“Fine,” she replied, and her tone was annoyed but her mouth was pursed, like she was trying not to smile, so he could tell that she was pleased.

“Why don’t we--” His suggestion for their ditch day was cut off by his cell phone ringing, and when he pulled it out of his pocket, he went from marginally relaxed to fully tense again at the name on the screen: _Sara_.

“I’ll be right back,” he told Thea, and stepped out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Hello?”

“Hey Ollie. Where have you been? I thought you’d call.”

He had told her as much a few days ago. _Why don’t I call you, and we’ll get together?_ He’d thought it was smooth, and the subterfuge of it had been exciting. It felt like a lifetime ago. “Yeah, uh, sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“Laurel told me that you were going back to Harvard. Big move. Kinda sad, you’re going to be on the opposite side of the country.” There was a teasing, sexy tone in Sara’s voice, and normally Oliver would appreciate how well she hit her target, but all it did just then was make him feel cornered. And then what she actually said registered: she’d talked to Laurel? When? 

He knew that Laurel and his mother talked, so it’s possible Laurel had heard about Harvard from her earlier in the week, and it could be that Sara had heard it from Laurel then too. But if she’d talked to Laurel today, then she would know about Felicity and...everything, and if she knew about that, why was she calling?

He didn’t have the energy to puzzle it all out. He just wanted to get away. “Look, Sara, I really don’t have time to--”

“Yeah? Are you going on that big trip to China with your Dad? Laurel mentioned that he wanted you to go.”

“I am,” he said impatiently. “And we’re leaving soon, so I really need to get going.”

“Well, I was just thinking that it would be a great chance for us to get to know each other a little better, you know, away from everyone else.”

“Sara…”

“Seriously, Ollie, it’ll be great. It’ll be just the two of us, having fun. And then when we get back, if you don’t want anything more than fun, no one needs to know. I’ve never been anywhere, Ollie, and we could go together.”

If only he didn’t recognize the longing in her voice, didn’t sympathize with what it felt like to want adventure, something _new_. And, for a moment, he thought: what harm could it do? It’s not like he was trying to maintain the illusion of being faithful to Laurel anymore, and if Sara didn’t care about sleeping with her sister’s (ex-)boyfriend, why should he? He and Laurel weren’t together anymore. 

And Felicity...well, Felicity would never know. He told himself she would never _need_ to know. What he did with Sara had no bearing on what they did about their situation, did it? And the release of meaningless, fun sex, away from all his impending responsibilities, sounded incredibly, temptingly good.

At least until a terrifying thought jolted into his brain: what if it happened again?

Oliver had been too drunk at the time to be responsible, but Felicity had been careful (or at least had tried to be) when they had their one-time fling, he was certain of that. Their time together was supposed to be meaningless and fun too, but she’d still gotten pregnant.

What if it happened again, this time with Sara? There would be no coming back from that, for Oliver or Sara or Felicity, or _anyone_. 

What the hell had he been thinking? Of course it mattered if he ran off with Sara, _of course_ it would matter to Felicity. If he did this, even if she never found out about it, _he_ would know. And if she did find out, it would ruin whatever tentative trust they’d built, and she’d never trust him again with anything, let alone a potential child. He’d never know what she really wanted, just what his irresponsible, thoughtless decisions made her think she had to do.

“Ollie?” He heard Sara ask, and realized she was stilling waiting for his answer.

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, wishing badly that he’d lived a better existence before now, hell, just a week before now. So that all of his bad decisions weren’t coming back to bite him all at once. “No,” he said, hoping she couldn’t hear how his voice wavered. “Sara, we can’t.”

“No one would know,” Sara repeated, sounding uncertain, and he understood. He knew his sudden change in behavior was confusing, and probably unkind. “I could sneak in--”

“No, you can’t,” Oliver interrupted, firmer now, knowing that Sara was willful enough to do just that. “I don’t want you to, and the crew won’t let you on, so don’t try.”

“Ollie, I don’t understand,” Sara said, obviously taken aback. “This is what you wanted, what changed?”

“Ask Laurel,” he said tightly, swallowing before adding: “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”

He didn’t wait for her reply. He ended the call, and went back into his room to finish packing.

~*~

It was cold and windy at the docks that afternoon, particularly in the large shadow of the _Queen’s Gambit_ where Oliver stood with his phone, waiting for his call to connect to Felicity.

It did after the fourth ring, music audible in the background. “Hello? Oliver?”

“Yeah, it’s me. How--how are you doing?” he asked, hating that he couldn’t even check on her without being awkward.

There was rustling, and then the volume of the music went down so that he could barely hear it. “I’m fine, I guess. Not much has changed since we last talked,” she said, her voice sounding muted in places, like she was stuffy from a cold.

“You sound like you’re sick.”

“It’s December in Boston, everyone’s sick,” she joked. “But yeah. I can’t really have most cold medicines right now because of the--” She broke off, then: “It’s okay. It’s not that bad. How are you doing?”

Oliver figured she was just being polite, and he honestly didn’t know how to answer that, so he skipped right over it. “We’re heading out in a few minutes, and I wanted to check in.”

“You said you would.”

There was a surprised yet amused note in her voice that made his lips twitch. It was a lightness he hadn’t expected, but definitely welcomed after the day he’d had. “Yeah, I did. You didn’t believe me?”

There was a beat before she answered. “Let’s just say I’m trying to keep my expectations low.”

“Fair enough,” he said lightly, mood dampened again, but he wasn’t offended. He got it--she still didn’t know him very well, and he hadn’t given her many reasons to really trust him so far. And _he_ was still trying to trust himself; it would be a long and difficult road to being responsible to and for himself if today was any indication, and he was a man accustomed to things being easy.

“I talked to Laurel.”

“What?” This time she was very surprised, and there was a sound of a sharp movement and then a soft _eep!_ from far away, like she’d pulled the phone away. A second later she was back. “Sorry, I, uh, I spilled my coffee. Sorry. What?”

“I talked to Laurel,” he repeated, unsure of what to make of her reaction.

“Oh. How did it go?” she asked, although her tone indicated that she knew exactly how it went.

“Not great.” He remembered the sound Laurel’s palm had made against his face, and his inadequate, hurried explanations after, how they seemed to go right through Laurel’s pained eyes. “She was...very upset. We’re not together anymore.”

She blew out a breath. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry you told her, but I am sorry about the rest of it.”

All he had for her were platitudes. “It’s not your fault.”

“I cheated,” she said, sounding hard.

He closed his eyes. He’d wrecked three lives just because he hadn’t wanted to tell the truth, and hearing yet another confirmation of that sucked. “No, _I_ cheated. I lied. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Felicity scoffed angrily. “I feel like I did.”

His emotions had been all over the place the last few days, and for some reason hearing that simple statement-- _I feel like I did something wrong_ \--brought on an intense flash of irritation, because he understood that she meant it was his fault she felt that way. 

He was annoyed that she was still upset with him over the lie of omission that brought them together. What had he expected? Did he think she would just forget it, that she would praise him for telling the truth to his girlfriend about his cheating, when she clearly saw it as the most basically decent thing he could do?

And the thing was, he _had_ thought she’d forgotten it already, or at least moved on from it. He _had_ expected praise for doing the difficult but right thing. He wanted some acknowledgement for how hard telling Laurel was, and he wanted Felicity to think that he was a good person for having done it.

In that moment, he wished for so many things, none of which were particularly good: he wished he was on the boat already, sailing away from the reminders of his problems; he wished Felicity and Laurel would absolve him, and in lieu of that, just forgive him. He didn’t want to earn it or wait for it, he just wanted it done. He wished for a shortcut, so that he could jump ahead to a place where he didn’t have to feel guilty or think about it anymore.

But there was no shortcut, and he didn’t know what to say to make it better, and he couldn’t help the petulant words that came out of his mouth. “I said I was sorry.”

He heard her suck in a breath, and then nothing for a long moment, long enough for Oliver’s face to redden with shame. And then: “And that’s it? You think you can just say sorry, and that’s it, everything’s fine?”

“Felicity--”

She ignored him, and her voice was thick, with frustration or tears or illness, he didn’t know. “Is that what you expected with Laurel? That you would admit you cheated, say you were sorry, and that she would just forgive you and you guys could go back to the way things were?”

“No,” Oliver said, passing a shaky hand over his head, “no, I didn’t mean it that way.”

Which didn’t really help, seeing as they both knew he did. “Okay, well, I’m not sure what you _did_ mean, because some of us can’t go back to the way things were. I can’t go back because you lied to me and I slept with you and now I’m pregnant, and I don’t get to pretend it didn’t happen that way or that you being _sorry_ about it will change it.”

“I’m--”

“ _Do not say you’re sorry_. Don’t. Just don’t, Oliver,” she said raspily, and when she pulled away to cough in the background, Oliver thought he couldn’t possibly feel worse. “I’ve got to go.”

And he was wrong. Alarm had him clenching the phone hard. “Wait, Felicity, don’t hang--”

A beep announced the end of the call, and Oliver cursed. He stood, staring at the side of the _Gambit_ and trying to figure out what to do next, when he heard his mother call his name.

His father was just moving away to board the yacht when Oliver started down the pier on autopilot, his mother waiting patiently for him.

He still wasn’t quite present when he stopped in front of her, and Moira frowned. “Is something bothering you? I’ve hardly seen you the past few days.”

Oliver resisted the urge to laugh bitterly, but just barely. What _wasn’t_ bothering him? “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? If it’s about going back to school, I don’t want to you to be concerned,” Moira said, reaching up to adjust the collar of his coat. “It’ll be hard work, but I know you’re more than capable. And I’m very proud of you for looking to the future.”

God, if only she knew what his future looked like. “Right,” he said, voice clipped.

Moira searched his face. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”

“Not right now,” he said, afraid that if he said anything, he would just tell her everything, and then he’d never be able to leave. “But there are some things we should talk about when I get back.”

Moira drew back, regarding him seriously. “Well, that certainly sounds ominous. Is this something I need to get our lawyers involved with? Because if it is, I’m not sure about the prudence of you leaving--”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing like that, Mom. I’m not in trouble,” he said, sighing. At least not the way she meant. “And it’s nothing that can’t wait.”

She stared at him for a long moment, until she seemed satisfied that he was telling the truth. “Alright. You can tell me anything, Oliver. I’ll always help you in any way I can.”

He gave a small smile. “I know, Mom. I promise I’ll tell you everything when we get home.”

“Good,” she said, then held up her arms for a hug, which he leaned into gratefully. “Now, you’re going to behave yourself, aren’t you?”

“Definitely.” It was one of the easiest promises he’d ever made--it’s not like he needed more to worry about.

“I love you so much,” she said, and it was exactly what he needed to hear right then.

“I love you too, Mom.” He squeezed her tighter, just for a moment, and then he let her go.

~*~

Oliver spent the better part of the next five days holed up in his cabin, either drunk or asleep or staring at the ceiling, trying to drum up the courage to call Felicity back.

He should have tried immediately after she hung up, or at least later that day once they’d pulled out of the harbor. But every time he looked at the phone that day, he was reminded of how inadequate his apologies and denials were, and how quickly Felicity would see through them.

So he didn't call that day, or the next, or the day after that. He had dinner with his Dad on New Year’s Eve and went to bed early, and when they made port for half a day in Hawaii to refuel, he left the yacht only to restock on booze and to sit on the beach in silence while the sun set.

It wasn’t until the morning on the sixth day that he forced himself out of his cabin to retrieve the satellite phone, and then trudge right back to his room to lay down on his bed. He looked at the phone for a long time, tracing out her number on the keypad, before he actually dialed.

When he did, the quick beat of his heart was nearly as loud as the ringing tone.

“Hi,” she answered on the fourth ring, obviously having seen his name pop up on caller ID. “How’s life on the high seas?”

He swallowed at the question, made more nervous by her tone. It was flippant, with a forced lightheartedness, but also somehow reserved, like she was afraid to be as open with him as she had been before. It told him that maybe she wasn’t still angry, but she definitely wasn’t over their argument yet either.

It didn’t seem like the right move to match it, so he went with a solemn, straightforward answer. “Quiet. Are you feeling better?”

“Mostly, just some coughing here and there. You know how colds are, they take forever to go away.”

“Yeah,” he said, then tried to breathe through the terribly awkward, tense silence that followed the little small talk they were capable of. “Look, Felicity, I wanted to--” he cut himself off, because even almost a week later he had no idea how to make this right. “I know you don’t want me to say that I’m sorry, but I am.”

“OIiver…” she trailed off.

“Really, Felicity. I fucked up and I’m sorry.”

“Which part?” she asked, her weariness coming through clear.

“I-” Oliver started, then frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Which part are you sorry for? For lying and cheating, or for getting caught?”

Oliver felt another flood of the shame he experienced out on the docks, because it’s just what he was afraid of, that she’d zero in on his weaknesses. It sent him back to his night with her, how he’d loved that there was no pretense in her, and that was still true, but it was also apparent that she saw straight through his.

He was still grappling for words when she made a troubled noise. “Oliver, I’m not trying to be unfair to you, but-”

“You’re not,” he rushed to say, because as challenged as he felt, it seemed important for her to know that he understood why she was upset and that he didn’t blame her for it. “I don’t think you’re being unfair. I just...I don’t know what to say.”

“I get that, Oliver,” she said, softer then, and despite it not being forgiveness, it was still probably more than he deserved. “And I’d rather you admit that than say things you don’t mean.”

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing again. “I’ll try to do better.”

“Okay,” she replied, somewhat hesitantly. “Listen, I uh, I made an appointment at Planned Parenthood for next week.”

“Oh,” was all he could manage at first, because his lungs had seized up painfully. “Does that--does that mean you made a decision about the-” and he couldn’t say _baby_. He couldn’t make his mouth form the word. “About what you want to do?”

“It’s just a counseling appointment, I’m not doing any procedures yet, but...yeah, I think so,” she finished quietly. 

He’d waited too long. He just laid there for a moment, staring blankly at the beige ceiling of his cabin, thinking that he should have called her back right after their fight. But he’d waited too long, and his honesty had come too late.

Or maybe they’d have always ended up here; God knows Oliver wasn’t father material. Felicity was smarter than he was, and maybe she’d just come to the logical conclusion sooner than he did. He should be relieved she was making the choice for him, that she was helping him avoid a huge responsibility he didn’t really want. And a major part of him was relieved, had unwound as soon as she’d told him her decision.

But another part of him, the part of him that had been _trying_ for once, that thought maybe this was one thing he _could_ do-- that part was making his eyes burn and his throat ache with emotions he wasn’t equipped to name.

He pushed that part down inside himself, as deep as he could, hoping he could fool himself into pretending it’d never been there at all.

It didn’t work. Which was perfectly fine, he had plenty of booze to fuel the effort later.

“Okay,” Oliver said, then cleared his throat. 

He didn’t want her to hear his turmoil, didn’t think it was fair to her, but apparently she heard it anyway. “Oliver, I’m sorry. It’s just...I’m not ready for a kid. I don’t think you are either.”

“No, you’re right,” he said, forcing his voice to sound strong and sure. “And you don’t have to explain, Felicity. This was always going to be up to you.”

There was a noise on her end, he thought maybe it was a sniffle. “Thank you, Oliver, for...for not making this harder.”

“Can you wait until to do it until I get back?” he asked, since he couldn't bring himself to say _you're welcome_.

“If they have an opening for me before then, I think I should take it,” she told him, a little sadly. “I think it's just better to get it over with. Waiting isn't going to change anything.”

He was about to say _but you wouldn't be alone_ when he realized that she was already alone; he'd seen to that the minute he'd told her he was leaving on this trip. No wonder she’d made this choice -- he’d just made one mistake after another with her. What else was she supposed to do?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying block out his disappointment in himself. “Okay, then, just...call me when it’s over, so I can...I don’t know. Just call me, okay?”

He heard her take a deep breath on the other end of the line. “Why don’t I call you after my appointment on Tuesday? We can talk it over again then. What’s the time difference between here and China?”

“I’d really like that,” he told her, a tiny bit of hope rising, but he did his best to squelch it. She just wanted him to feel included, it didn’t mean she was going to change her mind. “Don’t worry about the time difference, just call whenever you get the chance.”

“I will,” she reassured him. “I should get going, I have to get ready for class.”

He didn’t want to let her go, tried to come up with a reason to keep her on the phone longer. Maybe if he kept her on she’d want to get to know him better, maybe she would think differently about him, but then he dismissed that as a pipe dream almost as soon as he thought it. The pregnancy was the only thing bringing them together _now_ , and with that gone soon, there wouldn’t be any reason for them to stay in touch at all.

He shouldn’t let himself get any more attached than he already was -- the less he knew about her outside their mutual mistake the better, and vice versa. “Alright. Talk to you next week, Felicity.”

“Yeah. Bye Oliver,” she told him softly, and then she was gone.

He pictured himself throwing the phone across the room, imagined the satisfying crack it would make hitting the wall. Instead, he set it deliberately on the bed next to his hip. Then he turned over to face the opposite wall, shoved his hands under his pillow, and closed his eyes.

He didn’t sleep.

~*~

Oliver knew he couldn’t put off leaving his room any longer when his father sent a steward to summon him to the master cabin later that evening, interrupting his action-packed night of wallowing and listening to the rain hit his window as the storm ramped up outside.

He’d skipped eating in the dining room, instead taking his meal in his cabin and asking for seconds, trying to soak up the bottle of vodka he’d finished off earlier that afternoon. The vodka had been a bad idea even before the gale rolled in, but by dinner the rocking of the ship in the troubled seas made it a particularly poor choice, prolonging the effects of the alcohol and making it churn in his stomach.

Thankfully, when the summons had come, Oliver had a pounding headache and an overstuffed stomach full of cheeseburgers and greasy fries, but at least he no longer felt like he was about to have the worst case of seasickness ever. 

Still, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to a night of pretending to care about (or understand) his father’s dealings from that day, or enduring conversations about his future, or whatever else it was that had his dad calling Oliver to his room at 9:00pm on a Thursday night.

Honestly, all Oliver wanted to do after the day he’d had, after the week he’d had, was go back to his bed and pretend to sleep. And at least then he could occasionally get it right by accident.

But within his father’s sphere he was a dutiful son, or was at least smart enough to appear to be, so when he found himself outside his dad’s door, he knocked and waited to be invited in.

“Oliver!” his father greeted as he swung open the door, and then he threw an arm around Oliver’s shoulders and pulled him inside.

Robert guided him toward the large office situated to the right of the main cabin. Where most people would have put a comfortable sitting area suitable for relaxing or watching TV, Robert had opted to construct an office that rivaled the one at Queen Consolidated headquarters, replete with a massive desk perfect for intimidating corporate rivals and family members alike.

“Have a seat,” Robert said, gesturing to the leather chair secured in front of the desk as he rounded the corner to sit in his own chair. 

Oliver was tempted to refuse, but the unpredictably rolling hull reminded him that that would not be smart. The last thing his head needed was him tumbling to the floor. “Are we in trouble?” he asked, gesturing toward to the cabin’s large windows, through which heavy rain and frequent lightning could be seen.

“Not yet, but we're getting there. The Captain’s recommended that we turn around, crew’s working on it as we speak.”

“We're heading back to Hawaii?” he asked, adjusting in his seat, trying to get comfortable on the stiff leather.

Robert nodded. “By the time we get there the storm will have run its course, and we'll do a quick refuel and head out again. We shouldn't be delayed more than a day or two.”

“Great,” Oliver said, working to inject some interest into his tone. He really couldn't have cared less about where they were or where they were going or when they'd get there. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Not all,” his father said, a strange tension filling his features. “I thought I’d prepare you for this business in China.”

The way Robert said ‘business’ -- _this business in China_ \-- it didn’t sound as though he meant it like corporate work, it sounded like he meant some kind of matter that was suspicious, even dangerous, but that didn’t make sense. Somewhat discomfited by that, and the incessant shooting pain of his headache, Oliver shifted again in his chair, and felt the satellite phone thump against his thigh in his pocket. He reached in his cargo shorts to take it out.

“Before I forget.” He held up the phone and then placed it on his father’s desk.

“I was wondering where that had gotten to,” Robert said, pulling the phone closer and taking a look at it. “I was about to take it out of Pierson’s pay.”

“Yeah, sorry, I was…” Oliver started, then drew a blank on how to describe his conversation with Felicity. “I needed it to call someone this morning, spaced on bringing it back.”

Robert relaxed back into his chair, amused, but for a moment he also looked relieved somehow. “Would that someone be Laurel’s sister Sara?”

“Sara?” Oliver parroted, taken aback. How had his father known about Sara?

“Yes, contrary to what you might think, I do pay attention to my children lives,” Robert said, raising an eyebrow and shaking his head. “And I have to tell you, son, that is not going to finish well. For them or for you.”

“Believe it or not, I figured that out for myself,” Oliver replied dully. “No, I won’t be talking to Sara. This was a...different person.”

“But still a girl. Is that what's had you so twisted up since we left? Is there a girl out there resisting your charms?” Robert asked him with knowing humor lacing his voice.

“That’s not the problem,” Oliver said wearily, not bothering to deny that it was a woman he was calling. 

God, he was so tired. He was so tired of hiding the whole mess -- what was the point? This trip would be over soon enough, and then they'd be home, and there would be questions about him and Laurel and Harvard, if Laurel hadn't told his mother the whole tale already. The truth would come out eventually, so what was the point of hiding it any longer? He just wanted to be done with it.

Oliver hadn't explained himself for enough time that Robert frowned, and Oliver thought: _to hell with it_. “The problem is that I got her pregnant.”

Oliver's statement seemed to grind everything in the suite to a halt. Then Robert blinked, and there was an expression of such surprise and confusion on his normally unreadable face that, had they been talking about almost anything else, Oliver would have laughed.

“I'm sorry?” Robert asked, like he wasn't sure he'd heard Oliver correctly, despite sitting only feet from him.

“She's pregnant,” Oliver repeated.

Robert still seemed to be processing the news, and his reaction was so uncharacteristically mild that it only highlighted the absurdity of the situation. “Are you sure that you're the father, and this girl’s not trying to--”

“Yes,” Oliver interrupted, irritation bleeding into his reply. “I'm sure.”

“Oliver, I taught you to be careful, I taught you to be cautious about how you conducted your affairs,” Robert said, steel entering his words, and there was the father Oliver recognized, “so it's not out of the realm of possibility that this girl is trying to deceive you to gain access to our family’s resources.”

“She's not like that, Dad, she's a good person,” Oliver insisted, then barked a harsh laugh. “And she's made it very clear that she doesn't want me or our family’s _resources_ , so you don't have to worry.”

Robert frowned again. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that she doesn't think I'm ready to be a parent, or that she is,” Oliver told him tightly. “She's getting an abortion. So there's nothing for you to be concerned about, it's all going to be taken care of.”

He regretted the bitter words as soon as he said them, because they weren't true to how he knew Felicity felt. It wasn't any easier for her than it was for him, but the small crater in his chest that he'd tried to fill just seemed to reopen at random, darkness spreading out of it.

Robert didn't respond, however; he was silent, studying Oliver gravely for what felt like a long time before he spoke again. “Has she had the procedure yet, this--what's her name?”

“Felicity,” Oliver supplied, oddly relieved that his dad wasn't referring to her as ‘this girl’ anymore. “And no. I guess she wants to talk to the clinic about it first.”

“Good,” Robert said, standing and grabbing the satellite phone and holding it out to Oliver. “Take this back. Call her as soon as we’re out of the storm and tell her that you're ready to support her like you should have from the beginning. Tell her that she can cancel her appointment.”

Oliver stood as well, taking the phone mechanically, looking dumbly down at it and then back up at his dad. He couldn't have been more shocked by Robert's statement if he'd announced that he was quitting QC and moving to Hollywood to devote himself full-time to show business. “But you just said--”

“I know what I said. But if you're right about Felicity and you've made a child, and I believe you when you say you have, then you have to take responsibility, and so do we. We'll call your mother in the morning, update her and have her talk to the lawyers about what we need to do to confirm paternity and set up a fund for Felicity and the baby’s care.”

It was an overwhelming sense of whiplash that kept Oliver off balance and searching for an answer that would satisfy his dad. “I _offered_ to support her. I offered her all of that, and she decided she didn't want it. I...I can't _make_ her have the baby.”

“Of course not, I’m not suggesting that. I also don't think you really gave her a choice. You may have offered our money, but that's not the same as offering your full support, not when the next thing you do is leave the country,” Robert replied, tone hard. “It's time for you to grow up, Oliver. No more equivocating. You have to show her you can be a man she can trust and depend on.”

Oliver thought he might actually be going insane. Who was this man standing in front of him, talking about trust and lawyers and Felicity and funds for supporting Oliver’s _child_? He didn't know what he expected out of this conversation -- no, he did. He expected his dad’s anger, his impatience, and an ultimatum to _make it go away quietly_. He absolutely did not expect this kind of disappointment, or his father’s sudden insistence that Oliver do right by Felicity immediately.

To say that Oliver was lost and confused would have been a massive understatement. “Where is this coming from?”

Robert went completely still, and an odd expression passed over his face. “I really have failed you if that's a question you need to ask me. Felicity is carrying your child, that makes her family, and _we do whatever we have to do for our family_ ,” his father said, his voice going harsh with intensity. “Son, you can't begin to imagine the things I've done to protect this family.”

Dread hollowed out Oliver's stomach. “Dad, what are you--”

An incredibly loud boom drowned out his words, and the ship shuddered and groaned under their feet. Robert made for the door as two, three heartbeats passed, just enough time for Oliver’s adrenaline to spike, then the yacht pitched violently sideways.

For years, Oliver would have nightmares about the moment he and his father flew into the wall. Not because of the painfully hard impact, which knocked the breath out of him and made his ears ring, or because of the falling debris that were nearly as dangerous as their initial collision with the wall, or because of the split second before the emergency lighting kicked in, when it was so dark Oliver was convinced they were already under water.

It was because of the satellite phone. One second he was holding it, and the next he wasn’t. In his dreams, Oliver would relive the moment he opened his eyes, looked over at his hand, and realized it was empty, that their best lifeline to the outside world after the yacht’s radio was gone, and that he was responsible for losing it. He’d see himself looking frantically for the phone, turning over whatever he could while his father yelled at him to forget about it and go. Everything would slow down, exaggerating the time he wasted which could have been spent gathering food or water, until Robert finally wrenched him up and shoved him down through the doorway toward the deck and the lifeboats.

The nightmares wouldn’t allow him to feel the shock and fear and mortality that they all felt, that any man would have felt in his position. Instead, he’d be overwhelmed with horrible, consuming shame. Because even as they battled wind, rain, swelling waves, and a listing ship to launch the lifeboat, his mind wasn’t on the calls he could have made to summon help to save them.

No, his mind was on Felicity, on the call his father had told him he had to make in order to save his future, and the fact that Oliver knew he never would.

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously. There's no update schedule for this fic. I don't know when the next update will be. When it's finished, I guess? For real. I don't know. WIP, remember?


End file.
